


Spare The Rod, Use The Vibrator Instead

by seriousfic



Category: True Blood
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:37:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Tara gets into a fight with Jessica, Pam decides to teach her a lesson. Fighting with a paying Fangtasia customer is one thing, but *losing* to her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after 5x06 - Hopeless.

Tara would never get used to being a vampire. One minute she was taking a hard right from Jessica that sent her flying past the bar (with some satisfaction, she landed in the shelf of Pam’s precious bourbons), the next her Maker had her by the ear and was dragging her into the backroom. _And here it comes,_ Tara thought. The next moment she was pinned to the wall, Pam’s hand at her throat. Predictable, but effective.

 

“You wanna read me the Riot Act, fine,” Tara said, her interruption spoiling the stern look on Pam’s face. “But you’re a fucking hypocrite if you keep tellin’ me to enjoy being a vampire, then trying ta lock my shit down whenever I color outside your lines.”

 

Pam salvaged an eyeroll from Tara’s interjection. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I don’t give a shit that you deigned to get your ass kicked by Anne of Green Gables, although I do find it excessive that you felt the need to have your foxy boxing in front of paying customers. We’re vampires, not the UFC! But that’s forgivable; you’re young and very stupid. No, Tara. What I care about is that your black ass was just handed to you by Bill fucking Compton’s baby vamp.”

 

“I could’ve taken her,” Tara mumbled, to which Pam clamped down on her throat. She didn’t have to breathe, but it still hurt.

 

“Vampire 101. Only bet on a sure thing. If you were human, you’d maybe have ten good years before your tits start to sag, but now that you’ve been ever so slightly improved, you need to start thinking about what you’re doing for the next ten thousand years.”

 

“Really hoping Buffy was real.”

 

“Oh, the self-pity again?” Pam threw Tara to the ground, taking some satisfaction in how Tara cartoonishly tried to catch herself but couldn’t quite manage. “God’s sake, you make me want to buy you therapy, and I pay you more than enough to afford your own.”

 

“I make below minimum wage, like tips are supposed to make up the difference.”

 

“The beer’s half off, ain’t it? Do I really have to explain the principles of alcoholism to you? Fuck it. As long as you stop beating up my clients—and losing to them—I don’t care where you’re at on your little journey of self-discovery.” Pam crossed her arms and gave Tara a firm scowl. “Say ‘I promise, my beloved Maker.’”

 

Tara scrambled up to a crouch. “Fuck _you_. If I don’t take shit from you, I’m damn sure not going to take it from whatever Nosferatu motherfuckers come into your dive bar. P.Fucking.S. Fangtasia is a stupid-ass name for a bar. Even hipsters have more respect than to come to a place that puns on a Disney movie.”

 

“The Disney movie was named after us, you stupid—“ Pam put her face in her hand to knead her sinuses. “Kids. Either stop fucking around or I’m going to have to punish you.”

 

“ _Oh_ , so that’s what’s up.” Tara stood, affronted. “Please, massa, don’t punish me! I be good! I be good!”

 

Pam waved her hand like she was warding off a gnat. “Put it back in the deck, Thornton.”

 

“Or what? What’re you gonna do to me that’s worse than being a blood-drinking, soulless freak of the ni—“

 

Pam didn’t even let her finish. “As your Maker, I command you to drop your pants.”

 

Tara resisted, flickering a second, then undid her belt with a hiss and let her pants drop. Her legs were long and toned and bare. Pam smiled down at her pink panties.

 

“Maybe I should put you on the cleaning staff. You do make this place look better.”

 

“You lay one hand on me, you’re gonna be drinking your blood through a straw.”

 

Pam smirked at the deadly serious look on Tara’s face. “You haven’t earned me touching you. Come along, kiddo. Leave those pants right where they are.”

 

Hampered by the pants around her ankles, Tara frog-marched herself after Pam, through Fangtasia’s backrooms. The serving staff gave her slight out-of-the-ordinary looks, but minded their own business. If Pam was leading her around by the nose, it must’ve been legit.

 

“In!” Pam finished, throwing the door to her office open for Tara.

 

The baby vamp tried hard not to fling herself inside. When the door closed behind her, she let out the deep breath she’d subconsciously taken. More people had just gotten a look of her drawers in the last five minutes than had in the past two years.

 

“Aren’t you glad I didn’t go out through the dance floor?” Pam sat behind her desk, finding a manila envelope waiting for her. She opened it with a fingernail and leafed through the paperwork. “Fucking IRS…”

 

Tara couldn’t help herself from looking around. Pam’s office was a funhouse reflection of herself—a little girly Katy Perry shit, a lot business world bitch with stilettos. It was demure, appealing, and effortlessly elegant, even if Tara wasn’t sure whether pictures of kittens on the walls were meant ironically or not.

 

“You’ve made your point,” Tara said, the breeze from the air conditioning putting a tingle in her thin panties.

 

“I don’t think I have. You’re provincial, immature, close-minded, obnoxious, and quite frequently, rude. Hold on.” Pam looked back down at the IRS document to reread a paragraph. “Motherfuckers… oh, this is not good for you, Tara. I’m in a bad mood. I tend to take those out on everyone.”

 

“When was your last good mood, the seventies?”

 

“Yes, I quite liked Nixon and Pong.” Pam shepherded the papers together, knocking them straight on her desk. “I’m going to be here all night getting Eric’s financial shit together, since Vikings can’t fill out forms. I need some easy listening and since the radio won’t stop playing that Macklemore asshole… touch yourself.”

 

“The fuck you just say to me?”

 

Pam looked at her quizzically. “Touch yourself, please?” She bopped her own forehead. “Oh, right, I forgot: As your Maker, I command you to touch yourself.”

 

Tara’s nostrils flared as her eyes narrowed. Her hands obeyed despite herself. Her body knew exactly what Pam meant, even if her mind took a second. In a moment, she had a firm grip between her legs, squeezing her mound like she (her body) thought Pam might like.

 

“Feel free to keep a running commentary,” Pam said, taking one last look at Tara before abandoning her for the paperwork. “I love the sound of a woman moaning in ecstasy.”

 

Well then. Tara would be damned (or more damned, depending on how you looked at vampiric spirituality) if she let Pamela de la Whateverthefuck embarrass her after she’d spent all this time _not_ being a whore. She touched herself, and if she was going to touch herself, she was going to enjoy it. She pictured Pam at one of her old MMA matches, getting slapped around like a redheaded stepchild trying to do half of what Tara had done. Yeah. That was a good thought. So was the thought of Pam asking her what she’d thought about, and Tara telling her in excruciating detail.

 

Obstinately silent, Pam arced her body so her jacket fell off, then pulled down her top with her free hand. Her bra was a little trickier, but it went away too. Pam raised her eyebrow, but didn’t look up.

 

Tara pictured her bent over that desk, a guy big enough to play football pounding into her from behind, Pam screaming with the pain and pleasure of it. The image made her clench and her nipples swelled like they would burst. She tweaked one, then the other, defusing them. The vision of Pam became more vivid. She could imagine the sweat running down her face as she was fucked hard.

 

“You like that?” she asked the imagined Pam, just low enough that maybe the real one couldn’t hear, testing her vampire ears. “You like getting fucked? No, you like getting fucked _hard_.” She punctuated the sentiment with a hard thrust inside herself, the feeling surprisingly intense. Maybe it was just from being watched.

 

Great, she was finding out about an exhibitionist streak from the Queen of the Dead.

 

“Try shaking your hand,” Pam said. She was actually writing something out as she spoke, her eyes locked onto her pen’s supple movements. When Tara didn’t follow, Pam took her confusion for disobedience. “Do it _now._ ”

 

Tara did. Her hand took on a life of its own, blurring at the edges as it worked her groin like a jackhammer. It was too intense, painful a little, so she slipped her shaking hand up to her stomach and let the vibrations dull into her flesh. It was a good feeling. She relaxed into it, lowering her hand to her thighs, trailing it up and down her legs as she got used to the pulsing.

 

It was just like a vibrator. Not that she’d ever been able to afford a decent vibrator on Sam Merlotte’s salary. No, this was actually better. She brought her hand up between her thighs, back to her panty-clad sex. It buzzed against her groin, summoning a warm, liquid feeling that spread and settled on her like a narcotic haze.

 

She forgot about Pam, at least, the Pam that wasn’t still getting shotputted like a bodybuilder, fucked so hard she’d been too busy tryna ta see straight to tell Tara what to do. She missed the sly smile on Pam’s face. Then her little finger brushed over her clit and Tara fell in love.

 

“Feels _good_ , doesn’t it?” Tara’s eyes refocused on Pam, who was still facing the papers, but her eyes were up, like she was looking over the rims of an invisible pair of glasses. Her accent, real or fake, had congealed, ending up like a pound of ground beef scorched into a delicious burger. Her smile was lethal. “It feels good because you’re being fucked by a vampire.”

 

Tara imagined Pam getting fucked by two guys, one in each hole, her vampire mouth spewing obscenities, not sure whether to beg for mercy or for more. Then she stilled her hand and pushed three fingers into her sex. They twisted and turned inside her, nearly going supersonic again, turning the waves of lust from before into tsunamis. She took her hand away from her breasts, figuring her nipples were as hard as they were going to get, and shucked her panties off. One hand she put on her clit, letting it vibrate as slowly as superhumanly possible. The other one, at human speeds, plunged into her sex, one then two then three fingers, a fourth seeming painful but inevitable.

 

Pam loudly flipped the paper she was reading, bringing Tara back to what passed for reality. After a second’s glance at the figures, Pam leaned back in her chair, popped her neck, and removed her jacket. Underneath it, her blouse was obnoxiously sexualized—the kind of thing bitches Tara hated always wore. But damn, did it show off her cleavage.

 

Pam knew exactly what to do. Three fingers inside her, her other palm on her clit, she vibrated both hands.

 

It hurt. It felt so good it hurt.

 

She’d had better orgasms, but never so fast. They—yes, _they_ —just hit her over and over again, like a gun firing. For about ten seconds, the vibration seemed to get far too intense, far too fast… her cunt was vibrating against her fingers just as fast as they were, setting off pleasure she hadn’t known about, like landmines or a fucking cave-in. Then they hit. Boom. Boom. Boom. She threw her head to the side, back the other way, and finally tilted it back like her spine was broken, seeing the halo of light around the incandescent bulb on the ceiling as her multiple trailed off, all the vibration wrenched from her except a soft quiver she couldn’t shake. Her hands felt wet. Both of them.

 

She gave Pam her most insouciant smirk, only to find the blonde vampire staring at her, almost impressed. “I didn’t tell you you could come,” her Maker said, smug as ever.

 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have slipped a nip.”

 

Pam fell for it, glancing down at her chest before swiveling back to Tara. “Looks like you haven’t learned your lesson. Need more discipline. A Maker’s work is never done.”

 

Tara smiled fiercely in challenge. Stroked herself once to draw the pleasure out a little more.

 

Pam glanced down, watching her finger’s progress. “And I know just what your punishment should be.”


	2. Chapter 2

To be continued.

 

That’s what Pam said. “I don’t have _tyyyme_ to discipline you properly.” She dismissed Tara—“Remember to put your clothes back on”—and the last Tara saw of her, she was powering through her paperwork. It was almost sun-up, so Tara had time to wash before she went to her coffin. Fucking vampires.

 

She didn’t remember her dreams that night—she never did, she wasn’t even sure if vampires had dreams—but she woke up sweaty and breathing hard. “Oh, fuck no,” she said out loud, “this shit has _nothin’_ to do with Pam.”

 

She got up, splashed water in her face, and went to find Pam, still in her drawstring pants and camisole top. Still barefoot, even. Pam, naturally, was in her office, fully dressed and coiffed, absorbed in her laptop. Something that sounded severely like Avril Lavigne was emanating from it. When Tara burst in, her hand blurred to shut the screen.

 

“I knew that as your Maker, I had to teach you not to burst into flames, but I kinda thought you had _knocking_ down.”

 

Tara closed the door behind her with her foot. “You wanna punish me? Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

 

“Well, at least you’ve got an eager beaver. Am I saying that right? American is my second language.” She tilted her head to the side. “Sit.”

 

She didn’t gesture to the chair set aside from her desk, but Tara knew that was where she was meant to go anyway. She settled into it. “Surprised there ain’t a dildo here.”

 

“Maybe next time. Tara, I’ve been thinking, and I decided maybe I’ve been too harsh on you. After all, most people can’t stop themselves from coming when they’re in the same room as me. Why should you be any different?”

 

Tara’s eyes flashed. “Don’t give me any bullshit about how I’m such a shitty vampire you’re gonna take it easy on me. We both know you wanna punish me, so goddamn _do it._ I can take it.”

 

Pam pursed her lips, then neatly squared some of her things away on the desk. She set pens and papers off to the side, moved her laptop to the ground, her eyes kept carefully away from Tara. “I just don’t want to hear you crying later on about what an awful Maker you have, hurtin’ you and sayin’ nasty things like she has no respect at all for human dignity! I _can_ take it easy on you. It’d only be fair, seeing as how we’re stuck with each other. Maybe you woulda chosen some namby-pamby hippie vampire to give you hugs on the hours, and I could’ve found a redhead. The point is, you didn’t ask to be my progeny, so if you want to flounce off and play with your friends instead of getting the Pamela Swynford De Beaufort seal of approval, I won’t take it as an insult. Not that you could insult me if you tried.”

 

“I ain’t tried yet, ho. And like I said, I can take whatever you can dish out, so I’m thinkin’ this is all about how you know you can’t break me, so you want the game called on accounta weather. Well, fine—just say ‘I can’t break you, Tara Thornton,’ and I’ll find a prettier mug to look at.”

 

Pam’s fangs flicked out, though her smile was so tightly-lipped that Tara could only tell from the sound they made. “Believe me, bitch, I’m being nice. If I wanted to break you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d be begging for mercy while I used silver on some of your lesser-known erogenous zones. This ain’t military academy, sweetie, it’s just finishing school. But I don’t think you can even handle that.”

 

“Yeah, Maenads, shifters, and voodoo I can handle, but a bleach blonde is too much for me. Have you been huffing paint or is that just your perfume?”

 

Pam stood so fast she blurred. “ _I am a natural blonde._ Bend over the desk. Right the fuck now.”

 

Feeling a bit pleased with herself, and letting her expression show it, Tara sauntered over to the desk and bent over the space Pam made like she was getting a lady’s purse for her. Pam planted a palm between her shoulder blades and held her down.

 

“Want me to take my pants off too, or would that make you too jealous?” Tara asked.

 

“Allow me. I just gotta know if your panties say ‘Juicy’ or ‘Hot Stuff’ on the back.”

 

As Pam wrenched her pants down her legs, Tara felt her own pulse quickening with fear. Which was bullshit, because she wasn’t afraid of Pam. Even at her most psychotic, no vampire would just murder their progeny over some backtalk. So maybe it wasn’t fear. Okay, then. What the fuck was it?

 

“Last chance, Juicy,” Pam said, groping Tara’s buttocks just to reinforce how much she was enjoying the view. “Just pull those pants up and walk out of here; I’ll consider it an apology.”

 

“I ain’t apologizing for shit, you albino fuck. Bring it on.”

 

Pam hissed—literally hissed—in Tara’s ear. “Alright, bitch. You fucking asked for it, so now you’re getting it. Batter up.”

 

Pam held her hand high enough for Tara to see its shadow, then brought it down blurringly fast to deliver a stinging slap to Tara’s defenseless ass. Tara gasped at the sheer force of it, feeling the burning imprint of Pam’s hand on her buttocks. A moment later, a looping hand landed on her other cheek, setting it on fire as well. Tara’s long legs jackknifed in the air almost hard enough to dislodge the pants wrapped around her ankles.

 

Pam stared at her palm prints on Tara’s luscious ass, more than satisfied with the slight jiggle left behind by her assault. Tara was already breathing through her teeth to manage the pain, a tear in her eye. And almost soothingly, Pam ran her hand over where she’d struck. Perversely, she knew her touch brought as much pain as it did pleasure to the wounded skin.

 

“Here’s the object lesson,” Pam said, giving Tara time to catch her breath but not letting her off the hook, her massage constant enough to keep on ‘educating’ her. “You are my progeny. Keyword: _Mine._ And lucky for you, I don’t give a shit how you spend your nights or what fish taco you eat. But when I say jump, you say ‘Into what pit?’”

 

“Brace yourself for disappointment, bitch.” Tara’s voice was back to its old grit. She wouldn’t have spoken if it weren’t. “I don’t do anything unless I fucking want to, so either get used to it or fucking release me.”

 

“You don’t get off that easy. Failure is not an option with me. You are either going to be a credit to me, Eric, and Godric, or you’re gonna meet the Sun. And no, that’s not an option either. No motherfucker’s gonna say that my progeny didn’t make it one month without turning into a pile of goo. So take your punishment like a fucking vampire and remember who your Maker is.”

 

“I would be taking my punishment right now if you had the balls to go through with it. But I think you’d rather hustle me out of here so you can cry about how Eric don’t bring you flowers no more.”

 

“Fucking _cunt!_ ” Roaring, Pam shoved Tara’s face flat against the desk, hard enough to make the wood groan, and rained blows down on Tara’s upturned ass so fast it was hard to tell where one ended and another began. The sound was like wet sails snapping in the wind, loud enough to drown out Tara as she cried out, _at last,_ in pain and triumph. She struggled, she sobbed, she howled, but the pain kept coming, heat radiating from her abused ass, a fire that Pam kept pouring gasoline on.

 

“Fucking _trailer trash_ human-loving Bill Compton wannabe!” Pam screamed, pushing Tara down the width of the desk so her torso was hanging off it, her blazing ass dead center on the desktop. Climbing onto the desk atop her knees, Pam used her other hand to smack away, not content until she left Tara’s butt tingling and sparking for days to come. “This what you wanted? You want me, Thornton, you get all of me! There ain’t no edited-for-TV version! I punish you and you _goddamn_ know it!”

 

At first, Tara only felt the pain. That only stood to reason. Pam could move faster than any human, and the faster her hand went, the more painful it landed. For one freeing moment, Pam was an animal, thinking of nothing but escaping from the pain, taking the pain, living the pain. No Sookie, no Lettie Mae, no Naomi. It was… bracing.

 

Then she was back to herself, a little proud of how quietly her tears were rolling down her cheeks. She hollered, yeah, but she didn’t for one second ask Pam to stop. What she felt more than anything was embarrassed. Her, a grown woman, getting her ass paddled just because she’d gotten sucked into the vampire world and its fucked up shit. But no one could see her, just Pam, and it wasn’t like Pam could think any less of her than the bitch already did. Hell, it wasn’t like anyone could think less of her than Tara herself did. She was a fucking blood-drinking creature of the night.

 

Then, hanging upside-down off Pam’s desk, her ass on display like modern art, Pam still banging away on it like a set of drums, she felt ashamed. She’d wanted this. She’d wanted this and she’d got it. She’d wanted anything but Pam’s quiet contempt, she’d wanted either an actual mentor and teacher and Maker or rage. Anger she could take a lot better than disappointment. She was ashamed of herself for wanting it and she was ashamed of that millisecond of contentment when Pam’s hand had leapt into motion, that feeling of _finally_ that seemed incredibly fucking perverse to her.

 

Then she could admit it. She felt aroused. It made no fucking sense, but she’d never been more turned on than she was with her ass in the air and the worst fucking vampire of them all using her butt as a speed-bag.

 

Pam stopped, breathing hard though she hadn’t even exerted herself. Her sweat-covered hand ran over Tara’s sweat-covered ass like she was wiping it clean, examining the bruising she had left behind like a flag in enemy territory. Her nostrils stopped flaring and took one deep breath. They drank in a fragrant scent.

 

It wasn’t sweat dotting Tara’s inner thighs.

 

Pam looked up. Tara was looking over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on Pam, expression unreadable. Unreadable to anyone but her Maker.

 

Pam threw Tara on her side, spreading her legs, the topmost one landing on Pam’s shoulder. She pulled her up, so they were both on the desk, Tara’s head dangling off the side. She could watch as Pam reached between her thighs and pressed down firmly on her mons.

 

The pressure brought a groan to Tara’s lips, but she said nothing. Her tears had stopped, the blood streaking her face like war paint.

 

Pam half-grinned as she brought her hand up. It came down on Tara’s spread pussy. Tara’s entire body flashed into motion, even blurring at the edges as she spasmed. Pam did it again and again, never getting more from Tara than a heavy gasp. After only a few seconds, Pam came. Tara could sense it, the sea change, electric like the hum of a transformer. She reached for Tara’s groin, slowly this time, and softly rubbed her slit, prolonging the orgasm, the pleasure Tara felt as the pain faded. When she slid her finger into Tara’s opening, Tara came again. This time, she broke.

 

“Yes!” she sobbed, mouth open, fangs extended. Fresh blood glistened in the orbits of her eyes.

 

Pam withdrew her hand gently, wiped her wet fingers on Tara’s shirt, and pulled Tara into her lap, insensate to the world. “Bet I’d never hear the end of it if I just kicked you out, which is what I’d do if you were anyone else. Someone who wouldn’t make a big _to-do_ over a one-night stand. Fine. Let it out, Tara.” She petted Tara’s hair. Despite her harsh words, her touch was anything but perfunctory. It was graceful and slow and soothing. “Yeah. Have a good cry. I ain’t got anything better to do.”

 

Tara didn’t hear Pam’s words as such, just the calming blood-pulse of their tempo, the soothing chill of her skin when all of her body felt overheated. She didn’t know why, but now that the pain had stopped, she was crying in earnest. It was gross and disgusting and so fucking _vampire,_ but there she was, gushing blood like she was in a slasher movie. She couldn’t stop thinking about people who’d put their hands on her and people who’d said they loved her. Lettie Mae hadn’t even cared enough to spank her. Being ignored hurt worse than any open palm. It was like a splinter that stayed and festered, compared to the quick burst of pain that could be both the splinter going in or being dug out.

 

Eggs had hit her, under Maryann’s influence, and she’d hit him. And it’d actually halfway worked for her. But he hadn’t stuck around to hold her while the pain worked its way down to a dull throb. He’d been taken from her.

 

And Naomi? Shit, Tara hadn’t even sorted that out. It was all physical with her. They fought, they fucked, and she’d left too. Tara hadn’t cared enough to chase after her because Naomi hadn’t cared enough to come back.

 

She didn’t mind people hurting her, breaking her open, rummaging around inside her for what they needed. Maybe she should, but in her experience, that was just what people did. At least there was an honesty to it. Maybe she should be Sookie instead, wanting some fairy tale where people never fought or argued or hated each other even a little bit, just got the door and threw rose petals around, but hell, she’d settle for someone who’d put her back together after.

 

And here was Pam, who’d brought her back to life. Her Maker. Had she known this was something Tara needed, or could at least stand? Was it something she herself had needed, once upon a time? Well. Who the fuck knew? Tara was just glad, for the moment, in the privacy of her own head, that she had Pam and Pam had her, however much Pam covered it up with her bitching.

 

“I hope you appreciate how easy I went on you,” Pam was saying. “Didn’t even make you count out your smacks. Next time, it’s gonna be a hairbrush, got it?”

 

“It better be,” Tara said. “I kept thinking just now, ‘is that all she got? How’d this vampire bitch live a hundred years if this is her idea of being a hardass?’ I barely felt a thing.”

 

“Keep talking, bitch, and I’ll ask Eric if he’s seen my riding crop lying around. And wipe your fucking face off, you look like someone used your nose for a tampon.”

 

“Nah, you’re the one with a face looks like a tampon. That hair could pass for a string.”

 

“Then how about I shove it in your cunt?”

 

“I think you find me too sexually intimidating.”

 

“Just because everyone else is too scared to stick an extremity in that quim of yours doesn’t mean I give a shit.”

 

“Then prove it.”

 

“Maybe I will.”

 

“Maybe you should.”

 

Pam bared her fangs. So did Tara.

 

“Go on!” Tara taunted. “Do it. I would fucking _love_ if you did it. Just fucking try it already.”

 

Pam ran her tongue over her sharp teeth. “As your Maker, I command you to…”


	3. Epilogue

_Six weeks later…_

 

“Pam, we really need your help with this,” Sookie was staying, standing before Pam on her throne. Fangtasia hadn’t opened yet, and Pam was torn between the desire to make some glorious money from the Friday night crowd and continuing to rake Sookie over the coals. “This is serious! Alcide won’t stop thinking he’s a dog! He’s marked everything, and I mean everything!”

 

Behind her, Jason held Alcide on a leash. “You need to get him right again; he owes me a new PS3!”

 

Pam was just thinking up a dazzling bitch joke when Tara swept around the cushion, wearing her employee uniform so it broke the dress code in a dozen ways. “Hey, Sook.” She commenced ignoring the Stackhouses. “Pam, just broke a bottle of wine. Shit happens. Got something to say about it?”

 

“Not at the moment, no. I’m with a blonde.”

 

Tara fisted her hands on her waist. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was under the impression that you’d have something to say about someone dropping your booze. Fine. I’ll just go tell the servers they can drop shit all they want, no big.”

 

Pam irritably swiveled her head to Tara. “I’ll deal with you later. I can’t just drop everything to punish you.”

 

“Well, in that case, I think I’ll ditch work, just go hang out in your office and see if you got any good porn.”

 

“Tara! I am trying to stare at the nice woman’s tits as she tells me her boring problem! Can you not see that?”

 

Tara swung around to Sookie. “ _Hey, Sook,_ tell me, you’re friends with Bill. Would he ever let his progeny get away with shit like this?”

 

Pam fixed Tara with a stare. “Are you seriously comparing me to Bill fucking Compton?”

 

“Nah, his hair’s nicer.”

 

Pam zipped over to Tara, grabbing her by the hair and wrenching her head back to stare up into the taller woman’s eyes. “You really want me to leave a few marks on that admittedly intriguing backside? Because the last thing I need is a baby vamp whining about how she can't sit down to watch Duck Dynasty."

 

“I think I’d be in more pain watchin’ Duck Dynasty than I would be if you put me over your knee.”

 

“I bought a cat o’ nine tails on eBay, you little cunt. One more word and I’m cutting your ghetto booty down to size.”

 

“Oh, I wish you’d fuckin’ try, bitch. I haven’t had a good laugh since Conan went to commercial.”

 

Utterly oblivious to Sookie, Pam made a beeline out of the room, dragging Tara behind her. In only a second, the door was slammed shut behind.

 

“Alright,” Sookie said, “do I just have my mind in the gutter or was that some weird sex thing?”

 

“I got my mind in the gutter most times,” Jason said, “but that was definitely one weird sex thing.”

 

Alcide licked himself.


End file.
